ing room underneath the stand. He was back again almost
instantly, and his voice had an angry ring.

"Change those numbers!" said he. "The mare is disqualified. Isaiah,
first; Rainbow, second; put the fourth horse third. Mr. Weaver, come
up here, sir! And where's that nigger? I want him too. Murphy, I'll
see you later.... Don't go away, Mr. Curry. I need you."

"That's what I call getting hunk with a vengeance, old-timer." Thus
the Bald-faced Kid, at the door of Old Man Curry's tack-room. "You
cleaned up right, didn't you? Weaver's ruled off for life, and his
horses with him--he can't even sell 'em to another stable. Murphy's
lost his license. Chicken Liver's out of a job. Engle and his bunch
are in the clear, but they lost a lot of money on the mare. Regular
old blunderbuss, ain't you? Didn't miss anybody."

"Son," said Old Man Curry, removing his spectacles, "Solomon had it
right. He says: 'Whoso diggeth a pit shall fall therein.' Weaver dug
one big enough to hold his entire stable. And that reminds me: I bet
fifty dollars for you to-day, and here's the two hundred. Run it up
if you can, but remember what Solomon says about that: 'He that
maketh haste to be rich shall not be innocent.'"

"I'll take a chance," said the Bald-faced Kid, reaching for the
money.

BY A HAIR

"Son," said Old Man Curry, "what's on your mind besides your hat? You
ain't said a word for as much as two minutes, and any time you keep
still that long there must be something wrong."

The Bald-faced Kid's glance rested for an instant upon the kindly
features of the patriarch of the Jungle Circuit, then flickered away
down the line of stables where other horsemen and race-track
followers were sunning themselves and waiting the summons to the noon
meal.

Old Man Curry, his eyes half closed, a straw in the corner of his
mouth, and the brim of his slouch hat resting upon the bridge of his
nose, seemed not to be conscious of this brief but piercing scrutiny.
As usual with him, there was about this venerable person a beguiling
air of innocence and confidence in his fellow man, a simple attitude
of trustfulness not entirely borne out by his method of handling a
racing stable. Certain dishonest horsemen and bookmakers were
beginning to suspect that Old Man Curry was smarter than he looked.
The Bald-faced Kid had never entertained any doubts upon this
subject. He remained silent, the thin edge of a grin playing about
his lips.

"I hope yo